Children of the Night
by dragonmon12345
Summary: Zyon is a guy from Africa, and his best friend is Heather. What do the two do when their parents arrange a marriage for them? Running away seems like a good option, that is until they run into the unholy offspring of lightning and death itself.


This story was a request from the core of justice. Here's a link to their profile if you wanna check them out. u/4380765. I wanna thank them for their recommendation and I love the idea of it. To anyone else out there, I will take requests, but It might take me a long time to get it done.

It all started when I was 8 years old. I was a small boy, barely taller than the girl who I became friends with. It was odd, I'll admit, adapting from a place like Africa to the cold archipelago.

You see, as a child I was too young to remember enough about my family or where I was from, but I do remember what took me away from them.

It was nighttime. We were sleeping in our houses when one day, we heard screaming. My mother took me and ran while my father went out to see what was going on and maybe help. I didn't know why we were running. All I knew was I saw fire everywhere, burning everything to the ground.

I hated fire.

We ran like crazy, eventually resting someplace when my mother's feet couldn't carry us any farther. When I woke up, I was on a ship.

My parents were gone.

When I'd asked another member of our tribe what happened, he said that our leader had sold us into slavery. I didn't know what slavery was, but I'd find out.

We were told to immediately begin rowing the giant boat we were put on.

The oars were large and difficult to pull, even with three people on every one. Not only were we beaten if we didn't go hard enough, but we were chained to the boat so we couldn't get away. As we went, I'd ask the men next to me what slavery was, too young to fully understand. They didn't define it for me, but from what I'd heard they had to go through, it was horrible.

That night, I slept in a crowded, hot, and germ-filled environment. So many were sick or dying, and others couldn't sleep. Some had crying children, and others were gone, dead. We were unchained, which was the only advantage that day, and only when I rested did I realize something.

I was starving.

As the night continued, I laid awake, wondering where my parents were. I still didn't fully comprehend the situation, which I guess was lucky for me at that moment.

All of a sudden, I smelled something familiar.

Smoke. There was fire.

Immediately I raced to the stairs leading to the deck of the ship, but there were bars keeping us in. If not for my small frame, I wouldn't have squeezed my way out of there. Even then, I got stuck. My legs were tangled in the bars, and only when I saw the chaos around me did I wish I had stayed below.

Large beasts, ones my imagination couldn't even comprehend, were surrounding the place, burning the masts and the sails crinkling up as if they were shrinking from existence. Luckily, there were people fighting the dragons, and they looked good at it too. They were… different though. Not like those who had captured me. These people had a more rustic appearance, different from the metallic, shiny garb everyone else wore.

They also had very different points of views judging from the fact that they were also fighting each other.

I kept hearing words I didn't understand. "Viking" and "Roman" were the ones I heard most, and these, I figured, must have been the people around me. Who was who, I still didn't know yet.

Eventually, after waiting and dodging whatever weapon or blaze of heat came near me, the fighting stopped and the beasts ran off. The people in rustic garbs had won, with none of my captures alive. Only when everything was calm again did they notice me.

One woman walked over to me, others trailing behind her. They spoke in a language I didn't understand, and when they spoke to me I could only cock my head unquestioningly.

When the woman took a sword out, I thought I was going to die too, like my capturers, that is until she hit the lock, and freed me from the bars. I knew this was a friend.

I heard that word again. "Viking."

That's when I knew.

I wanted to be one.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Eventually they took me to their village, everyone marveling over me. Not all were positive though. While the literate people appeared to be intensely interested in me, and taught me the language I speak now, the warriors judged me on my sickly appearance and skin that was different than theirs.

There was a big fuss about me as well. There was even a whole tribal meeting as to what to do with me and the others.

In the end, we were all freed. Some chose to stay, but in the end receded to a different land. I was the only one left. I was determined to be as fierce as that one warrior that had saved me.

During the meeting, I had gotten bored and snuck out. This is when I met my best friend, Heather. We'd struggled communicating, but eventually found a game to play. We'd draw in the sand, and then dance with each other, only stepping on the lines. We had laughed and by the time the meeting was over, we didn't want to stop playing. But, she had to go home, and I had to go back to the place that I was staying at.

By this time I had figured out my parents weren't coming back. I didn't know them well enough to cry for nights like many stories say, but that doesn't go to say I don't miss them. They were still my mom and dad, and I'll honor their memory.

I worked hard, learning to be an archer, and earned food to gain weight. While I never looked like the hulking giant many of the Vikings were, it was enough to stop being called "fishbone." I was officially a Viking.

Eventually, I got adopted.

They were lovely folk with a wife that was barren. It was odd, adapting to a new life, but I got with it fast. They loved me as if I was their own. Not only that, but Heather, that awesome girl I'd met, was only a couple houses away. We could play every day.

Life was great.

And then the dragon raids came.

I was horrified, the first time I saw the village on fire. I wondered if we would be taken for slaves and if my new parents would be killed like my other ones. I was happy to hear that was not the case, although no good news came with the situation either.

Dragon raids were common in these parts. I was fascinated and studied what these beasts were. They weren't mythical or something my imagination conjured up that one time on the ship. No, they were real.

And they were fascinating.

I couldn't get enough of them. I studied hard and learned everything I could. I even made my own observations. There was one thing I hated about them though.

They breathed fire.

My biggest fear, fire, was their favorite weapon. Every time I smelled smoke, I froze with fear, and if I heard so much as a crackle in the night, I began to shake.

Eventually I learned that fire was good, but I still hated it.

My skills with weapons grew, and through dragon training I'd become a skilled warrior, just like I'd always hoped. I made my tribe and my parents proud. But most importantly, I made Heather beam with pride.

She was the best, most supportive friend an oddball like me could ask for.

As a foreign boy with dark skin, I obviously stuck out. Heather stood up for me, and when I realized how much I admired her, I wanted to be like her. It was almost as if history repeated itself. The strong female warrior helps me, and it makes me grow in character. It's through these events I learn my important life lessons that get me through the years. I had grown mentally and physically, now standing a head taller than Heather.

Heather would help me learn to fight with a sword, an axe, a bow, you name it. She'd been practicing, like all Viking children, since she was little. I was almost surprised that a place so nice as this would also be so… crazy.

And I loved it.

3 years later, when I was 12, I felt like I truly belonged, despite my differences and hardships. Everything was right with the world. Nothing could go wrong again.

And then, of course, something went wrong.


End file.
